


Elbow Room

by Hambone



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Bondage, M/M, Names, Silly, Sticky Sex, Young People Fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 19:08:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1196205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hambone/pseuds/Hambone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't perfect, but it sure was fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Elbow Room

**Author's Note:**

> Something I wrote while taking a break from work. I love these two, especially in the Marvel stuff. This doesn't necessarily belong to any specific continuity, just some stuff from before they were involved with Earth.

“So I was thinking we could try something different today.” Hot Rod finished knotting the last line of cord and stood back, admiring his work. Beneath him, Blurr shifted, testing the binds. 

“As long as we do something eventually I’ll be happy I mean really does it normally take you six vorns to finish a simple task like this or are you making a special exception for me because I appreciate he thought but not the waiting here for ever and ever and ever!”

Raising his hands defensively, Hot Rod frowned.

“For your information it was only a little more than a breem.” He sat down on the makeshift berth next to Blurr, shifting until he was sitting cross-legged and bracing his arms on his thighs in a way that intentionally emulated Kup. 

“You should be a little nicer to your elders!” the imitation was far from flawless, and Blurr turned up his lip. Hot Rod reached out and pressed the tip of one finger to Blurr’s nasal ridge, optics shuttering slightly. 

“Besides, if I chose, I could leave you here all cycle.” 

Blurr smiled a bit at that.

“Then I guess you won’t mind flushing out those big, messy fuel runoff tanks by yourself will you, huh? Huh? Have fun with that then, getting all sticky and disgusting by your lonesome.”  He nodded sharply, as if affirming his own insult. “Besides I’m already three million stellar cycles and if I remember correctly you’re only a few thousand older than me so technically we are both disrespecting our elders by doing this instead of checking the back engines before our recharge shift aren’t we?”

Hot Rod baulked. 

“You rusted pile of scrap metal!” 

Then he pushed forward, sliding a hand under the small of Blurr’s back to pull him up into a vigorous kiss all in one motion. Bound tight against his ankles, Blurr’s servos balled into fists, trembling, his knees grinding against the solid metal they perched on. Pulling away briefly, Hot Rod began pressing lighter smooches against his cheeks and neck, unoccupied hand sliding up over the restraints on Blurr’s thigh to massage his hip roughly, already looking for seams to pluck at, eager. Blurr moaned, high and reedy, rolling his head back to better accommodate him. 

The ties Hot Rod had put him in this time were simple and quick, which was about all Blurr would allow anyways, but they had been wrought with surprisingly careful precision, strong knots tied by strong hands. Ankle to wrist, calve to thigh. The cables were not intended for this kind of contact, just something they had found in the emptied out hanger they’d visited on their last away mission from the cramped carrier Kup had hijacked for them. They were frayed and bit into his plating, scratching little wheels of paint away. Blurr loved it, but it would be hard to disguise later. 

“So guess what it is.” He could feel Hot Rod’s smile against his audio receptor. The hand on his back slid down till it reached the hem of his aft section, toying with the angular curve. 

“Guess what what is?” said Blurr, arching his neck back further in hopes it would prompt Hot Rod to start nibbling at it again. It didn’t. “I can’t very well guess what something is if you give me absolutely no clues or context I don’t really think this is a fair time to be asking either I mean I would really like to not be guessing and just be doing if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Don’t be such a rusty gasket. I mean guess what the different thing I want to do is!” Hot Rod moved his hands to the corners of Blurr’s backskirt, pushing just under the hinges to massage the upper corners of his aft. Blurr bit his lip and made a noise somewhere between a whine and a growl, exasperated. 

“Well, what is it! What what what what!” he pushed back against the hands groping him, moaning thinly when they pulled away to tease at his hips again. Hot Rod’s laugh was warm against his neck, pooling down below his high collar. 

“Have you ever thought about…role playing?” 

Blurr opened his optics and swiveled his helm as best he could to look at Hot Rod. His expressions moved so quickly that they were unreadable on a good day, but their current situation exacerbated the confusion. Hot Rod pulled away a little, trying to disguise his self-consciousness and failing. 

“That depends on what you mean Hot Rod I mean of course I’ve thought about role playing before as in considered the concept and suchlike but I can’t really say I’ve ever been all that interested in using it in the more intimate aspects of my relationships not that I’ve ever really been asked before or been in a situation where it would have been appropriate which I might mention this does not seem like but I suppose I’m willing to listen to whatever you have to say about it assuming you actually do mean do incorporate it into our current interface session although I don’t see why you’d bring it up otherwise-“

“Sloooow down,” said Hot Rod, kissing him right on the mouth afterwards to preemptively quell any further complaint. Blurr leaned into it as though arguing was the furthest thought from his mind. After a moment they parted, staring heavy lidded into each other’s optics. Recovering quicker, Blurr turned away, feeling awkward about the uncharacteristically tender moment. Hot Rod breathed a hot grin into his receptor. 

“It’s nothing that weird.” As if to placate him further, he licked a hot trail around the spot he spoke into. Blurr was vaguely repulsed by that, but covered it well. “I just want you to call me something special.”

“Special?” muttered Blurr, optics starting to shutter again as Hot Rod’s hands massaged his waist. 

“Yeah. Yeah. I want you to call me Prime.” 

Blurr snapped back to attention again, but this time, in an attempt to save the moment, Hot Rod didn’t pull away. He could feel Blurr’s body temperature actively decrease. 

“What, you mean like Optimus? Optimus Prime? Leader of the Autobots?” he pulled a sour expression. Obviously, Optimus was not his type. 

“No! No. Like, you know, if I were a Prime. Hot Rod Prime.” It took Blurr all of a half klik to react. 

“Hot Rod Prime? Hot Rod Prime. Primus beneath us I can’t believe you actually said that do you really think that is in any way a good name for sparks sake I can’t believe it I can’t believe it.”

Hot Rod took it in stride. 

“Like you could come up with anything better!” Blurr was wheezing the high little gasps that made most bots assume he was experiencing some sort of major internal ventilation break down. Hot Rod recognized it as laughter. Rolling with it, he finally pushed under Blurr’s skirt to grasp his aft, kneading it firmly as he pulled them closed together. Blurr slid easily into his lap, restraints causing no difficulty. His codpiece pressed hard against Blurr’s cover. 

“This thing makes you look like a prude, you know.” He didn’t pause in his slow grinding to remove it, too caught up in his exploration of Blurr’s seldom seen backside. 

“It’s not just decorative you know I-ah!” Hot Rod had slid a finger into the open plating in his inner thigh, running it along the cording there, “it’s part of my body! I use it when I transform!” 

“I use it when I transform, _Hot Rod Prime_!” Corrected Hot Rod.

 Blurr head-butted him right in the nasal ridge. 

Several kliks and a slew of half-sparked apologies later, they were kissing again. Pulling back, Blurr pecked the dent he’d made, only a little smug. When Hot Rod nudged at his cover again, Blurr obligingly released the latches, allowing him to reach and around and push it up to the side, leaving his panels open to more direct touch. Hot Rod indulged immediately, grinding the flat of his palm against them both in a quick, controlled jerk. Blurr arched into him, mouth falling open with a fluttery little moan. 

“Finally! Finally finally finally!” 

Laughing, Hot Rod removed his hand to again cup Blurr’s aft, pulling them flush together. He could feel the inert energy in Blurr’s thighs, clamped tight around his waist, making them shudder. The cords creaked and strained against the pressure, crushing Blurr’s plating when he pulled too hard, but it didn’t deter him from doing it anyways. Hot Rod didn’t really understand the appeal, but the way it made Blurr whine was hotter than a smelter and he was more than willing to go along with it if it got him a front row seat to _that_. 

“Come on, come on,” Blurr urged, thin and desperate, as if they were dismantling a time bomb. His valve cover was already parting to bare what lay beneath, and Hot Rod could feel the heat of it against his own codpiece, the tips of his fingers beginning to catch little trails of lubricant that strayed down his thighs as they rocked. 

“I dunno,” said Hot Rod, nipping Blurr’s throat tubing, “I don’t think I’m quite ready yet. That little bump on the nose really killed the mood for me.” He was teasing and Blurr was having none of it. 

“Don’t you push me right now, Hot Rod!” 

“Or what, you’ll whack me again?” Hot Rod dodged easily as Blurr tried to do just that, lips pressed together in an inarticulate growl. Then he whined, hands forming fists as the wire dug into the exposed machinery of his wrists. His hips jumped in Hot Rod’s lap, trying to grind against him but unable to get close enough to do so. His helm dipped down and pressed against Hot Rod’s chest, defeated. 

“Please please please please please!”

Shifting slightly, Hot Rod brought a thigh up between them and pressed it flat against Blurr’s valve, prompting an embarrassingly high squeal. Hot lubricant ran down his thigh, pooling in the seams of his pelvic span. He removed his hands from Blurr completely, content, momentarily, to watch him squirm for friction against his valve, hips pistoning stiffly. His optics shuttered tight, lips barely parted as he concentrated, hard. It was, thought Hot Rod, a very attractive look for him.  

Unfortunately, he was equally young and desperate, and after a few moments he was forced to keep the inertia going, hands gravitating to Blurr’s breast as if it were the very thing keeping him online. It was tense and trembling, and Blurr moaned loudly as he was felt up. 

“You get much louder and Kup’s gonna hear us.”

“I don’t care!” yelped Blurr, squirming, “keep touching me like that oh please please yes I like being touched like that I like it a lot a lot a lot I-” Hot Rod’s fingers dipped inside the frontal vent and Blurr cut himself off with another wail, this time at least partially attempting to muffle it. 

The pressure was finally too much, and Hot Rod released his spike, sighing pleasantly as it sprung, fully pressurized, from the hatch the moment it irised open. Blurr’s entire frame jolted and he looked down; open mouthed and lubricating, oral solvents collecting on his lips as he stared. It was a big stroke to Hot Rod’s ego, which may as well have been located directly in his interface hardware, and his spike twitched a bit. He watched Blurr watch his junk with rapt attention, posture slackening as his confidence rose. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from jibing him. 

“It hasn’t gotten any bigger since the last time you saw it.” Surprisingly, it took Blurr a second to counter react, the barest glimpse of his dark blue tongue slicking his lips before he managed to tear his optics away. 

“Well you take so long to actually get it up I may as well have forgotten what it looks like!” 

Undaunted, Hot Rod pressed further. 

“Do you want it?”

“Of course I want it! ‘Do you want it’, what a question, I can’t believe you’d even ask me even in jest that is just stupid, ridiculous, you know I really, really, really want it I mean I know you can feel it and I do I really do Hot Rod I do please let me have it I’m just, I’m so hot!” His tone fluctuated wildly from indignant to downright slutty. Hot Rod’s smirk, and pride, only grew. 

“Then you’re gonna have to say it.” 

He watched Blurr’s brow knit in confusion, then consternation, then disapproval, all in the span of a half nano-klik. 

“Why are you so set on something his idiotic! It’s not even physical I mean perhaps it evokes that kind of reaction in you but even for your tastes it seems a little bland.” Hot Rod withdrew his thigh from between Blurr’s legs his voice began to increase in both speed and pitch. 

“Of course it’s not like I won’t do it if that’s what you really want especially after you’ve kept me here like this for so long I feel like I’m going to burn out I really really mean it!” he threw his head back and groaned, longsuffering. 

“What kind of a name is Hot Rod Prime anyhow! It just sounds idiotic and not at all like someone with the wisdom of the Matrix would call themselves I mean even the oldest Primes didn’t have names so ill thought out!”

Hot Rod began to slide Blurr onto his back, shifting them both carefully so as not to agitate Blurr’s bindings too much. It wasn’t so much out of worry over the other bot being hurt as it was over him being too excited by it. He had only gotten Blurr to overload through bondage alone once, but he had remembered it well since and was always a little wary of it, lest he actually miss his opportunity to get in a good frag. On the other servo, he wasn’t even sure Blurr had a cool-down period. It seemed he could just go on forever. 

Like he was doing now, with his mouth. 

“Alright, alright! I get it!” Blurr peered up at his from between his own knees. Keeping a firm hand on either thigh, Hot Rod scooted forward until his spike rubbed up against the folds of Blurr’s valve, trapping it between them. 

“What would you have me called, then? Hotimus Prime?” it sounded even dumber out loud than he thought it would, and he caught himself in a laugh. Blurr seemed significantly less humored, shifting his hips a little towards the object of his desires, hot and heavy against his inner leg. 

“Well you certainly can’t go by Rodimus. That just sounds dirty, like something you’d call your interface equipment.” 

Hot Rod rocked his hips in a languid arc, letting the ridges on the underside of his spike press between the lips of Blurr’s valve and scrape at his exterior node. Blurr was messy, excessively lubricated, as always. He was impatient at the best of times, but here, safely bound in the berth, it mattered not. Things would go at Hot Rod’s pace, regardless of what Blurr wanted. 

Of course, being led by Hot Rod was _exactly_ what Blurr had wanted in the first place. The complaining was just in his nature. The world moved at a different pace for Blurr, Kup had said. Hot Rod couldn’t really imagine what that was like, and honestly he didn’t really want to. Blurr wriggled, straining his bonds until they scraped against him, shaving little blue flecks from his thighs. Leaning over him, Hot Rod let the head of his spike nose against his valve mouth. 

“You gotta call me something.”

Blurr keened. 

“Prime! Prime, sir, please, please just do it already please sir please!”  

A shudder rocked through Hot Rod’s core. It was enough. He slammed forward, encasing his spike snugly to the base. Rolling his hips up, Blurr howled. 

“Frag yeah, yeah,” growled Hot Rod, biting into Blurr’s neck as he flung himself whole heartedly into the act, not waiting to adjust or relax (they were both as prepared as they were going to get), setting a punishing pace. The entire berth shook, threatening to break any moment beneath their weight, but neither of them could hear it through Blurr’s caterwauling, half formed sentences and long strings of praise choking vocalizer.

Hot Rod didn’t want him to stop, even though Kup would probably hear it. He didn’t want to ever pull away, ever stop pounding his friend so thoroughly that his pelvic span was scraping along the outer ring, the mesh of Blurr’s valve darkening as tiny energon lines ruptured inside. Blurr’s knees jabbed against his sides, the rest of the leg thankfully still semi-hobbled by the ties, leaving little blue smears of paint along his underarms. 

“Who’s your Prime? Who am I?” he panted, hands tight on Blurr’s waist. 

“Primus, Primus, Primus I’m so wet I’m so so wet oh Hot Rod, Ho-oh, Roddy, oh, I’m so wet, I’m burning, I’m burning, yes yes yes yes yesyesyespleaseyesyes!” it wasn’t exactly the answer to the question he'd asked, but he liked where it was going. 

Blurr was apparently closer to overload than he’d thought, but so was he. His spike was growing painfully full, pressure almost unbearable, and he knew it was probably worse for Blurr who had been on the edge since they’d started. As if reading his thoughts, Blurr screeched again, throwing his head back as he came. His valve rippled, the movement seemingly echoing all the way up his body as he thrashed in his bonds. 

Spurred on by the sight, Hot Rod pushed even harder, the swing of his hips gaining momentum until the fluids of Blurr’s release splashed up between them. He wrapped his arms around tighter, pulling them chest to chest so he could feel the polyglass of Blurr’s cabin, hot with spark energy. Blurr was throwing his head from side to side, as if fending off an attack. 

“Roddy, Roddy, Roddy, oh Hot Rod, oh, Roddy, Prime, I-”

That was it. 

Jamming his spike inside and holding it there, Hot Rod overloaded, charge springing down his spine and visibly illuminating the closet. It tipped Blurr over into another of his own, clamping his thighs down on Hot Rod’s waist hard enough to dent them both. A gush of fluid burst from his valve, an obscene mix of his own lubricants and Hot Rod’s scorching transfluid. 

They collapsed together, Blurr puffing out hot breath as he was partially crushed by the body on top of him. His legs were so stiff and tight that he doubted he could have relaxed them even had they not been bound. Hot Rod’s hands were still tight at his waist, just under the bulk of his backpack, and after a few moments they started rubbing in slow, lazy circles. Hot Rod nuzzled his chin from his position in the crook of Blurr’s neck, engine purring in contentment. 

“Slag,” he moaned, voice thick with static, “you gotta call me that from now on.” 

Blurr was already mostly recovered, despite his shaking limbs. 

“I don’t have to do anything.” 

It was dull banter. Even he was tired. The vastness of space gave them some time to fool around, as evident now, but their journey had not been without peril and none of them had recharged for cycles. It was actually what they were supposed to be doing in the first place. Blurr checked his chronometer, pushing air flatly between his lips when he realized they’d been at it half their (admittedly short) off period. 

Optics still shuttered, Hot Rod reached down to Blurr’s wrists, feeling for the cables so he could untie them. He frowned when his fingers came away wet with energon. 

“How are you gonna explain this to Kup?” he began to loosen the knot, rubbing a thumb over the damage with mild concern. It was nothing internal repairs couldn’t deal with, but he’d never understand the appeal. Bringing his newly freed arms up to wrap around Hot Rod’s shoulders, Blurr smiled genuinely. 

“I’ll tell him it was your fault.”  


End file.
